


more human than i could ever be

by SociopathicArchangel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awkward Brother bonding, Found Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 18:37:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15006920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SociopathicArchangel/pseuds/SociopathicArchangel
Summary: When Sam asks him who he is, the night Michael graces the bunker’s entrance for the second time that week, he motions to himself and says, “Adam Winchester.”And then he touches his neck, right where one would cut to drain an angel of their grace. “Michael.”





	more human than i could ever be

“What was it like?” Jack asks, sitting down on the floor.

The kid looks excited, despite the dark circles under his eyes and the lines on his face, and Sam, from where he’s standing by the doorway, can’t find it in himself to stop him. He’s too tired to. He’s too drained. He’s too exhausted that he’s just clinging onto the smallest scrap of hope he has these days.

He watches as Jack picks at the bandages on his forearm, still staring at his uncle-not-uncle, as the angel-not-angel looks up from the book he’s set on his crossed legs. Sam’s never seen someone take this much interest in history since, well, Bobby, and college. For a brief moment, he misses those few months of peace, away from his father. Away from Dean.

What he wouldn’t give to get Dean back.

Adam Milligan - Michael - tilts his head a bit. “What was?”

“Heaven.”

“I don’t remember,” Adam says, shrugs. He doesn’t remember a lot of things, Sam knows. He’d said his name wrong the first time (“Adam Winchester.” Sam had laughed, a little tearfully.). He remembers nothing from his time as a scout. He remembers nothing from his life. He’d only looked at Sam with recognition and said his name, and then asked, “Where’s Dean?” (And Sam clenched his jaw and tried not to cry.)

“Oh,” Jack says, shoulders sagging. “My father didn’t tell me much about it.”

Adam stills a little, or maybe that’s Michael, but then he relaxes and just looks up. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Jack says, “Sam says you’re having trouble remembering things.”

Adam hums, nods, and then looks back down at his book.

“I was confused when I got here,” Jack says, still such a little boy, reaching out and comforting the only way he knew how. “All I knew was one thing. I had to find my father.”

Sam’s lips turn up at that for a moment. That had been a pleasant surprise, that Jack had decided his father was Castiel. It had been a hope Sam had immediately latched on to when everything had seemed bleak.

He just prays latching onto another frail hope will work out for him again.

“How’d you find him?” Adam asks.

“Oh,” Jack says, shifting. “He was still dead then.”

Adam leans forward a bit, curious. And Jack takes it as his cue to continue, eager to retell how he’d wanted Castiel to come back so bad, he’d woken the angel up in the Nothingness, and Castiel had annoyed a cosmic entity just as badly, he’d gotten spat back out onto Earth.

Sam supposes, looking at both boys – because really, at heart they’re both still little boys, caught up in a war too big for them – that this’ll be good for them. A bit of bonding, getting to know each other. A moment of peace right before shit hits the fan and Sam can go back to feeling like everything’s slipping through his fingers again.

And maybe, just maybe, he’s praying that Jack can get this Michael to be on their side. Because as much as it’s mostly Adam holding the reins of the vessel, if Michael actually pushes his way through, Sam knows there’s nothing any of them can do. Dean’s hosted the other Michael. Sam’s hosted Lucifer. He knows how this works.

He feels a little guilty, because that’s his half-brother, and Sam does care, just a bit, but he’s so tired right now and he can’t think straight.

He leaves them alone, Jack talking about everything that’s happened to him in the past year, and when he finds them both still awake in the morning, he tells them to get breakfast and to get some rest, because they’ve got work to do.

 

* * *

 

 

When Sam asks him who he is, the night Michael graces the bunker’s entrance for the second time that week, he motions to himself and says, “Adam Winchester.”

And then he touches his neck, right where one would cut to drain an angel of their grace. “Michael.”

Sam freezes, and beside him, Jack tenses, but they’re both too exhausted from poring over every news site they can think of. They’re alone in the room, all three of them, as Bobby is with the others combing through footage (mostly because Adam hadn’t reacted well to unfamiliar people getting near him and asking questions, and had only responded well to Sam – and Jack, well, Jack had been curious and persistent), and Mary is out looking for Dean. Sam is the first line of defense everybody in this bunker has, especially with Jack having his grace depleted, and if Michael snaps his fingers, he’s going to be splattered on the walls very soon.

So he freezes, and he tries to think, but he can’t _think_ right now, because his heart is pounding and his head is repeating, _Oh god oh god oh god no._

But Adam seems to sense his distress, and he seems to _shrink away_ from him, like he’s ashamed, and he says, “I’m Adam.”

Like it would appease Sam because it’s the name Sam wants to hear, he says, again, “I’m Adam. Right now, I’m Adam.”

“You’re Michael,” Sam says, and his throat feels like it’s clogged. He can barely get the words out.

“Michael is asleep,” he says, “He’s tired.”

Sam says nothing, he just steps back, and Adam – Adam looks hurt. It hits him then, suddenly, how hopeful and relieved the boy had been when Sam had let him in, when Sam had checked his face and did the tests on him before breathing out in disbelief that he’s Adam, that he’s his little brother ; how he’d let Sam immediately fuss over him because Sam’s lost so much that he’d just attached himself to the nearest connection he could have, even if it’s a brother he’s only known through a ghoul, and a brother he’s only met for a while before the angels had taken him like they’ve taken Dean too.

Adam just waits for him to say something, anything, but it’s Jack who speaks, who says, “You’re not Michael.”

“No,” Adam says, “Like I said, Michael’s asleep.”

“No, you can’t be hosting Michael,” Jack says, “Michael’s got Dean.”

A brief expression of surprise flits across Adam’s features, and then he turns to Sam. He’d asked earlier, where Dean was, and now his mouth is parted a bit in shock. “What?”

“Michael’s got Dean,” Sam says, confirms. It feels like pulling teeth to be saying that. “Michael’s got Dean. It’s a long story. It’s hard to explain, it’s – ”

Adam nods when Sam cuts himself off there, understanding. “It’s okay,” he says, “I don’t – I’m not in a hurry.”

Sam laughs, mirthless.

Adam looks down and shifts on his feet, uncomfortable. His shoes are ratty, and his clothes still have dirt clinging to them. His fingertips are bloody from digging himself up from Stull, and he needs a good bath and about three days of sleep. He looks so human, so fragile, and he looks so guilty that Sam brushes past his wariness and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Adam,” he says, “What do you remember?”

“Not much,” he says, “My name. Michael. You. Dean.”

Sam nods, and then sighs. “Michael’s asleep.”

Adam makes a noise of affirmation.

“Okay,” he says, “Okay. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He shows Adam where the shower is and gets him a change of clothes – some of Dean’s because those would fit the boy better, even if he’s a little gangly and needs to put on some weight – and gives him something to eat. He throws up most of it, and Sam tells him it’s fine. His body’s probably just adjusting to being alive again, and it’ll be used to it in a few days. He finds Adam a spare room, and lets him sleep there.

Then he calls Jack, Bobby and his mother so they can have a talk, about his half-brother Adam Milligan, about the Michael of this universe, about what they should do next. Needless to say, there’s a huge disagreement on what must be done, and Adam sleeps peacefully for the next two days, unaware of the shouting matches going on in the bunker.

Sam gets himself a drink the day Adam wakes up.

 

* * *

 

 

They learn several things when Adam finally talks to them without curling up into a ball, afraid of all the hateful glances that seem to be constantly shot his way. Honestly, if Sam had any doubt that Michael was asleep, that would have done away with it, because he feels – no, he remembers Michael being haughty. He remembers Michael standing tall and proud. He remembers half-remembered memories from the time he’d shared headspace with Lucifer, of how Michael is, and Michael doesn’t curl up into a ball and rock back and forth and look at Sam like he’s the only anchor he has when everyone seems to loathe him.

They learn that when Jack had opened a crack into hell – Bobby and Mary raise an eyebrow at that, because oops, Sam might have forgotten to mention that with everything that’s happened lately – it had cracked into The Cage too, and with the chaos that’s befallen hell since Gabriel made a quick roast out of Asmodeus, Michael had slipped him and Adam out of the place and up topside. Adam had crawled out the ground for the second time, and wandered for a while because he hadn’t known how to find Sam and Dean. He’d remembered them from when he’d been in that white room, before the light had descended and Michael had arrived.

His last memory, Sam thinks, is of him screaming for help. And Sam and Dean had failed him at that.

“So where’s Michael?” Bobby asks, in that gruff, no-nonsense way of his that’s saying that if this is a trick then Michael’s gonna be a Fourth of July spectacle.

“Asleep,” Adam says, “I told you. He’s tired.”

“He’s been asleep for a while.”

“We were trapped in The Cage for millennia,” Adam says.

Sam feels an urge to scratch his hands. He doesn’t.

“Any idea when he’ll be awake?” he asks.

Adam shakes his head.

“Did Michael tell you to find Sam?”

It’s Mary who asks that, and the whole room turns to her. She’s got her arms crossed, and while Sam knows she holds no ill will towards Adam – not for hosting Michael or being her husband’s illegitimate son – she has no mercy for Michael himself.

“No,” Adam says. He doesn’t meet her eyes.

“You came here by your own choice.”

“Yes.”

“Did Michael protest?”

“No,” he says, “He didn’t agree either.”

Mary seems satisfied by the answer, and asks nothing else, mulling it over.

“It was the only thing I remembered,” Adam adds, “They were the only people I remembered.”

Sam ends the meeting there, and Adam immediately retreats to his room. Nobody follows him.

“D’you think he’s telling the truth?” Bobby asks, as Sam sits and puts his face in his hands. He wishes Dean was here.

“Yeah,” he says, “The Michael I remember – the Michael of this world – he may not have been an off-kilter conqueror, but he wasn’t a feeble puppy either.”

“He could be acting.”

“He’s not,” Jack says. He has that look he gets when he’s confused and trying to put his thoughts into words, but his words escape him still. “His Michael does feel weaker.”

“The Cage wasn’t easy,” Sam says. His mother looks at him but doesn’t comment. “I’m not surprised. He must have drained himself flying up and resurrecting Adam.”

“Why resurrect the boy?” Bobby says, “When he could have shot straight up to Heaven?”

Sam frowns. He hasn’t asked that yet. “I don’t know.”

He wonders if Michael’s hiding because he’s ashamed. He wonders if Michael barely has enough grace to shoot up to Heaven. He wonders if Michael even _can_ fly up to Heaven.

“I don’t know.”

 

* * *

 

 

They continue their hunt for Dean. Or, well, Michael 2.0. No one’s seen him, it’s like he’s completely dropped off the radar, and any tracking spell Rowena cooks up doesn’t seem to work on him. An archangel severely depleted of grace and put in the wrong vessel, she can handle, but Dean is the Michael Sword. And sure, this Michael’s displaced a few universes, but he and Dean seem to work together fine.

Unless Dean shows some signs of wear and tear, Sam doesn’t think they can count on Michael weakening any time soon.

Adam keeps to himself. He reads when he can, and he reads slowly, because his brain can’t process things too well. It takes Sam a while to figure out that sometimes he’s not reading at all because he _can’t_ process anything he’s reading or seeing on the page, and had just picked up a book because he wants to be out of the way, wants to be harmless.

Guilt knocks the air out of his chest then, and he brings Adam some paper and a few pencils, just to help sort out his thoughts, or give him something to do, and the boy draws and draws and draws and doesn’t say a word.

Sam looks at Jack, and then back at Adam, and sighs. He decides enough is enough, and talks to Adam in the kitchen, one quiet morning, and the boy actually looks so wary that Sam feels that guilt eating at his conscience again.

This is his brother.

“What’s wrong?” Adam asks him, when all Sam’s said is hi.

“I – ” Sam draws in a breath. “I just wanted to talk to you. See how you were settling in.”

“Oh,” Adam says. “Oh. Michael’s still asleep. He won’t be up for a while, I think.”

Sam feels like cold water’s been poured on him. Adam is afraid of him. Adam had come here hoping to have something to anchor him, because he’s confused, and he’s alive and he’s still caught up in a mess he never should have been, and it’s been millennia for him and just when he’s thought he’d had something point of stability, it had just been another silent warzone.

“Adam,” Sam says, “I wasn’t asking about Michael.”

The boy stares at him. “Oh,” he says, after a while, “Oh. Right.”

“Are you settling in okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “Everything’s alright.”

It’s not, Sam knows. The poor boy’s being alienated.

“What do you want for breakfast?” he asks.

“I – what?”

“Breakfast.” He makes his way to the cupboards, getting bowls and spoons and plates. Adam’s got a bar of chocolate in his hands, and he looks like he’d been on the way to sneaking it to his room when Sam had caught him.

“I don’t – I don’t know,” he says.

Sam waits for him to elaborate, and the boy appears to have a difficult time getting his words out. “I don’t remember what kind of food I like.”

Sam nods, patient, and says, “We should try pancakes this morning.”

Adam only nods, not knowing what to say. He’s tried pancakes, Sam knows, but he’s also been barely eating lately.

“Do you want to sit?” Sam asks.

“Uh.” Adam seems to take it as a command and just sits down.

This is more difficult than he’d expected.

“Adam,” Sam says, and his voice is soft. Not with falsity, or with pity, but with fatigue and guilt and remorse. “I’m sorry for how we’ve been treating you this past few weeks.”

When he turns back to his brother, Adam is looking at him with wide eyes. With…surprise, and, well, fear. He shouldn’t be looking at Sam like that. Sam is his big brother, for god’s sake.

“We’ve been on edge,” he says. It sounds too much like an excuse, so he says, “A Michael from another universe hijacked Dean’s body. And everyone here is mostly from that other universe, so they’re wary of any Michaels. I’m – I wasn’t sure if you were Michael or Adam.”

“I’m Adam,” Adam says. He sounds so hurt, god. “I’m Adam. I wasn’t lying. I’m Adam.”

“I know,” Sam says, “And it was shitty of me to make you so scared when you were obviously Adam. Even Jack confirmed Michael was sleeping, but.”

He heaves out a breath. He doesn’t know how to apologize for this, not without scaring Adam further. “I’m sorry.”

He stands there, and he lets Adam stare at him, lets himself stew in his guilt, and he understands, suddenly, why Dean wants to keep all the hurt for himself. Why he insists on carrying the blame on his shoulders. Why he focuses all that loathing inward instead of outward. Guilt eats at you, and your concern and love for someone makes you want to make sure they never feel anything awful, even hurt, even sadness, so you insist on taking it out of their hands and insist on carrying it.

“It’s okay,” Adam says. Sam looks up at the sincerity in his voice. He’s still scared, but he also – he understands. “It’s fine, Sam.”

Then he offers a small smile. It’s awkward, and uncomfortable as he’s still clearly wary, but there’s warmth there. If nothing else, at least he appreciates Sam’s efforts at an olive branch.

Sam nods, and turns back to the cupboards. “Any preferences on pancake toppings?”

“I…I don’t remember those either,” Adam says.

“Sometimes people put sprinkles on them,” Sam says, “Or syrup. Strawberry syrup. Chocolate.”

“Chocolate,” Adam says, quickly. It’s as close to excited Sam has ever heard him. “I, um, want chocolate syrup.”

“Chocolate syrup it is,” Sam says, easily reaching the bottle of chocolate syrup up the higher shelves.

Adam watches him as he cooks, and they share the stacks of pancakes he’s made, both of their plates drowned in chocolate syrup. Adam still gags a little later, because he’s eaten too much all at once, but he later comes back a few hours after lunch to get more food; he’s trying, and Sam’s trying too, and that’s all that counts right now.

 

* * *

 

 

They meet Michael on a walk outside.

Not Dean, sadly, but this world’s Michael, Adam’s Michael, and they don’t expect him to wake up because all Adam wants that morning is to stretch his legs, so Sam gets umbrellas and Jack tags along and they both watch as Adam walks down the path, fascinated by the rain, by the trees, by the ground. Sam remembers The Cage, and how it had been everything and nothing at once, and how Adam had shied away from having too much to process when he’d just gotten out of it, and thinks maybe they’re getting somewhere.

Adam walks ahead of them a few feet, and Jack asks Sam questions, about his uncle, about the Apocalypse they’d averted, about his swan dive to hell, and he answers as best as he can in a low voice. Then Adam pulls in his umbrella and lifts his head to the sky and lets himself be drenched in the rain.

Jack starts to approach him, but Sam holds out an arm and shakes his head.

He knows what it had been like, when he’d finally gotten his soul back, when he’d gotten out of the psychiatric hospital, when he’d finally been sure that he wasn’t hallucinating Lucifer and he was back on Earth, and Dean was as real as the firm ground underneath the soles of his shoes.

Adam reaches a hand up, like he’s trying to snatch a cloud, and then he stills.

Sam does as well. “Adam?”

Jack lifts his head. “Something’s coming.”

They’re far from the bunker. It’s raining, and they’ve decided to take a walk, and it’s early in the morning, and Sam’s got a gun and a drained Nephilim and his little brother who’s hosting a catatonic archangel. There might be angels, there might be demons, there might be _anything._

Sam immediately runs and grabs Adam to pull him back and drops his umbrella to drag Jack along with him towards the direction of the bunker.

There’s a noise, and Sam speeds up, hefting Adam up in one arm and Jack in the other, and then he hears it, a high-pitched whine, faint but there, and he thinks – _angel._

But Heaven’s numbers have depleted, so he doubts they’d send too many angels on earth. Maybe they’d be here to negotiate. Maybe they wouldn’t be violent. Maybe –

He looks at Jack, and then Adam. Jack, a Nephilim who could help with their numbers should he get his powers back. Adam, who’s hosting the Prince of Heaven, and who he has no doubt Heaven would happily attempt to coerce into awakening the archangel sleeping somewhere between his ribs.

He glances at Adam, and sees the way his eyes are aglow with a focus that hadn’t been there before. He nearly trips, but Adam puts a hand on his shoulder and then suddenly Sam’s stumbling into the bunker’s War Room, tripping on nothing, and throwing Jack and Adam on the floor as he falls. Both boys roll and crash onto the ground painfully. Jack coughs as he sits up.

Sam gets to his feet as fast as he can, one hand already near his belt, and he watches as Adam – Michael – picks himself off the ground, slowly, stiffly, like he’s just getting used to piloting the vessel.

The way he looks at Sam confirms it. That blank look in his face. Just like how Sam remembers him.

“Michael,” he says.

Jack snaps his attention to the archangel.

Michael nods and then looks at his hands, stretching his fingers. “How warded is the bunker?”

“Best as we can ward it,” Sam finds himself answering.

“Asmodeus found it,” Michael says, “The other Michael broke through it.”

“We’ve set up more wards since then,” Sam says, “Asmodeus is dead. The other Michael h-has no reason to come back here.” He pretends not to notice he falters when he’s said that.

Michael moves to one of the desks and rummages for some of the papers and pencils Sam usually keeps there for Adam. Who knows if the boy’s ever coming back when Michael’s in the driver’s seat now.

Another brother, lost. Sam feels rage shake at his fingertips.

He lets that rage burn, even when all Michael’s doing is scribbling things down. Jack notices, as the boy keeps his head low and walks over to Sam, just in case Michael strikes or Sam decides to throw a knife at him.

Michael moves to slide the paper over to him across the table. Sam blinks down at it when he sees what’s written.

“That,” Michael says, tapping the sheet, “On the new door. On the ceilings.”

Then he closes his eyes. When he opens them, that focus is gone. Or rather, it’s different. It’s wide-eyed innocence that looks at Sam, and he suddenly finds himself letting out a breath, because that’s Adam.

“Oh,” Adam says, “Oh. Trouble?”

“ _Adam._ ” Sam nearly launches himself across the table just to wrap his arms around his brother, and the boy is so surprised, he makes a sound not unlike a squeak.

“Sam?”

He doesn’t answer for a bit, and then says, “Michael flew us here.”

“He told me.”

He pulls away, concerned. “He’s talking to you?”

Adam nods. “He is. But, he says he’s going back to sleep.”

“Oh.”

That’s good. That’s good, really, because that means Adam stays, that means Michael’s going away for now, that means Sam keeps his brother. That means another crisis averted.

It hits him then, that he doesn’t know what Michael’s going to do once he’s tired of sleeping.

But he doesn’t think he can dwell on that right now. There should be a way, to get Michael out of the way without sacrificing Adam. Maybe Sam can convince him to return to Heaven, because they need his help up there. Maybe he can destroy himself right along with the other Michael who’s moving Dean around like a puppet.

There’s an idea.

Sam looks at the sheet of paper on the table. Warding symbols, he thinks. Or homing beacons, but then, Michael wouldn’t have flown them here if that was the case.

He has an idea, but then, there’s this.

He still doesn’t know which side Michael is on.

“Sam?” Adam asks again.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Sam says, because it’s all he can think to say. “I’m glad you’re still here.”

Adam looks taken aback.

Sam smiles at him, and then picks up the sheet of paper from the table, studying it. He’ll let Cas take a look at it, and then he’ll have these up around the bunker. And he’ll overthink because that’s what he’s good at, and wonder exactly if his hope in taking Adam and Michael in is misplaced or not.

 

* * *

 

 

They’re wardings. Castiel looks at Sam oddly when he tells him that Michael had given them to him, and Sam explains what’s happened: the morning walk, the sudden noise, the high-pitched whine, and then Michael flying them out of the forest and back in the bunker and giving him a couple of wards and nothing else. No fights. No speeches. No taunts.

“And then he let Adam have control of his body again?” Castiel asks.

“Yeah,” Sam says. He can already feel the lines on his face deepening with how set his frown is. “Cas, what does it take for an archangel to just, I don’t know, sleep while possessing someone?”

Dean had been in control when he’d killed Lucifer, but Sam thinks he and Michael had both been awake at that moment. A passing thought of it being like a Jaeger hits him and he bites down a hysterical laugh.

“Like Jack said, Michael is…significantly weakened,” Castiel says, “But he is recovering quite well.”

“How well?”

“Well enough,” Castiel says, “By the end of the year, he might have at least half of his grace, if he continues to rest like this.”

The end of the year. Maybe Sam can convince Michael to fight for them in that time frame. He’d rather find Dean sooner, but he knows they can’t approach Dean without the necessary firepower.

He doubts Chuck or Amara would show up right now. Even if he wishes they would.

“Why didn’t he just go up straight to Heaven?” Sam asks out loud, not really expecting an answer.

“I don’t know,” Castiel says. “Have you tried asking Adam?”

Sam pauses. “No, I haven’t. I haven’t…thought of that.”

“Perhaps there’s some merit in asking it,” Castiel says, and then gets that pinched look on his face. “I’m not quite sure if I’m seeing right because of how mangled Michael’s grace is, but he does seem a bit more – for lack of better word, more _attached,_ to his vessel than usual.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure about this,” Castiel says. He says it like a secret, with the way his eyes dart from side to side. “But I can barely tell where Michael ends and Adam begins.”

There’s a lot of ways to take that. Sam doesn’t want to consider the possibility of Michael masquerading as Adam again, but it’s the easiest one to accept. The others, not so much.

He asks Castiel anyway. “What do you think about it?”

Cas sighs, world-weary. “That perhaps The Cage tore them apart more brutally that we could have thought, and put them back together wrong.”

Sam nods. He draws in a breath.

“Right,” he says, “But you can’t say for sure?”

“No,” Castiel says, “We have to wait and see when Michael’s recovered.”

The idea of Adam and Michael sharing a consciousness and yet not, is not hard to grasp. Sam has read books, has gone through comics, has seen shows, has briefly done the same thing with Lucifer, in the small downtime they’d had before they’d gone to Stull. It wasn’t quite possession, and it wasn’t quite a mind-meld either, it was just a state of unity.

If Adam and Michael share a consciousness, and if Adam cares for Dean, or for the world at all, they might just have a chance to stop the Apocalypse. Again.

Sam prays. He prays to God even though he knows He might not be listening, but he prays either way.

 

* * *

 

 

He forgets to ask Adam.

Mostly because he’s busy with hunts here and there, what with the sudden spike in disasters (from Litterbox-world Michael, no doubt), and then the one time he does find time to ask Adam, Castiel arrives in the bunker in a heap of tattered trenchcoat and blood to announce that Michael has taken over Heaven.

“Heaven barely has any angels,” Sam says.

Movie night is forgotten, as everyone is staring at Cas, barely able to keep himself standing, leaning on Sam.

“That’s exactly one of our problems,” Castiel says. “Heaven barely has any angels. So Michael’s brought reinforcements.”

Sam blanches. Behind him, Bobby starts directing people to get to the War Room.

“But – the Seal – the stone - ”

Castiel looks down. Sam feels cold. They’d returned the stone after they’d gotten everyone across.

“So he’s mobilizing Heaven.”

“Yes,” Castiel says, and then sucks in a gasp as he tries to take a step forward.

“ _Hey,_ hey, hey – stop, take it easy. Stop.” Sam bends down a little to check on the gash on Cas’ stomach. He takes one of the angel’s arms to loop it around his shoulders. “Let’s get that cleaned up first.”

The room is almost empty, what with everyone having gone to the War Room to plan or to the basement to get weapons. Jack remains, staring at Castiel helplessly, because he doesn’t know how to heal people yet, and isn’t even at full power because he’s had to drain himself from too many close calls during hunts. Bobby shoots Sam one last nod before racing with Mary to the War Room.

Adam stands, staring at Castiel, and for a moment, Sam thinks he can see wings, tattered and stitched but nevertheless bright.

“Michael?” Sam asks.

“Adam.” His half-brother shifts on his feet. “He’s awake but he doesn’t see the need to be in the front seat.”

That makes Sam breathe easy, even if he asks, “Why?”

“He needs to rest,” Adam says, “You know he does.”

Castiel stills. He meets Sam’s eye.

Adam appears to pause, like he’s listening to someone, and then he says, “If this other Michael is mobilizing Heaven to take over this world as horribly as you said he did with his, it might be time to pull out all the stops.”

“He’s not all for this?” Sam asks, “For the – ” he licks his lips, and the next word comes out mockingly despite the fear coursing through his gut right now, “ – _purification_ of this world?”

“That Michael’s idea of paradise doesn’t line up with mine,” Adam says, and blinks. “Uh, _ours.”_

Sam is an idiot.

Sam is a massive, massive idiot for not seeing this before. He’s a moron, an utter fool, and he would kick himself in the ass if he physically could at the moment, because he’s spent these last few months wondering how _he_ could convince Michael to join them, instead of letting the one who had a direct line to the archangel do the convincing.

He’d spent so much time worrying that Michael didn’t have a shred of decency within him that he’d forgotten that Adam, a human who lives and loves the world like every other human who wants it to keep existing – if not for his own sake, then for everyone else’s – might have a sway with his houseguest’s opinion.

He knows people who spend time together surviving in the middle of a traumatic situation form bonds. He knows that having Adam on the wheel while Michael sits back gives the boy a 24/7 connection to the angel, with his consciousness alert and intact and uncompelled. He knows Cas told him he couldn’t tell where Michael ended and Adam began.

He stares at his brother now, and wonders how long he’s been silently chipping at Michael’s beliefs, or at least put up one hell of an argument. His blood is still a Winchester’s, after all.

Adam steps forward and gently touches his fingertips on Cas’ forehead, and Sam watches the lacerations on the angel’s skin seal themselves up.

“How juiced up are you?” he asks.

Adam shrugs. “Michael says he could be better,” he says, “But it’s nothing to scoff at either. Between me and Jack, we could do some damage.”

They might have a chance. Sam nods.

“If we need to get Hell to back us up, we might have a better stand in this.”

Castiel straightens as he pulls his arm back from Sam, looking a little offended at the suggestion. “That’s not a good idea.”

“Not if you’re fighting for an entire world against a fleet from another dimension,” Adam says, and snorts. “Come on, guys, I know my memory is shot, but you could have at least read some books? Comics? Am I the only one who gets the picture here?”

“An all-out stand,” Sam says, “This world versus theirs.”

“Yeah,” Adam says. “We’re not fighting only one archangel who’s got the Michael Sword. We’re fighting the entire host of Heaven from another dimension.” He blinks. “That sounded weird.”

“Hell will turn against us,” Cas says.

“Not if they want to keep their turf,” Adam counters.

Jack hesitantly steps forward. Sam turns to him.

“Adam might be right,” he says, unsure, but Sam can see the resolve in his eyes. “Hell is in chaos right now, but I think they’d be more than willing to help if they knew that Earth was in danger of being invaded by another Heaven.”

“We don’t have anyone we can contact. Crowley’s dead,” Sam says.

“We have me,” Jack says. He shifts on his feet.

Sam stares. “Jack…”

“Lucifer is – he’s not my father,” Jack says, “But he is responsible for bringing me into existence. That’s something Hell has to respect, at least.”

“He’s Lucifer’s vessel, Hell doesn’t respect him,” Cas says, motioning to Sam. The man lets out a mirthless huff.

“But they should listen to reason,” Jack says. “Or, we could make them listen to reason. And if there’s anything Hell hates more, it should be Heaven.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Adam says, “Unless you know where God is, all we have is – all the hunters on the globe, and they’re barely equipped to deal with angels who can destroy them without touching them.”

“But if we got _everyone_ on board – ” Jack starts to say, but Sam holds up a hand.

He shakes his head, fond. “Did you two think about this beforehand?”

“Might’ave,” Adam mumbles.

Jack shrugs. “You kept telling us both to rest to recharge.”

Sam laughs then, free and joyous, for the first time in months. Kids, he thinks. Put them in a room together and they’d definitely come up with some scheme.

“We’ll think about it,” Sam says. He turns to Cas then, and holds his gaze, and nods. The plan is risky, but they always take risks. And honestly, dealing with demons causing trouble after this blows over is better than not dealing with anything at all because it’s all gone.

“Come on,” he says, leading them all to the War Room. “We got a war to fight.”

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I've posted or written for SPN, and I really want to see a Michael vs. Michael smackdown, so, here, even though it's not really a smackdown, ahaha.


End file.
